


The Sound of His Voice

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi is a Stripper, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hair-pulling Kink, M/M, Nightclub AU, Profanity, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Iwaizumi's friends have had enough of his pathetic moping, they drag him to a club for a night on the town. He doesn't know what they have in store. </p><p>Apparently, neither do they. But Iwaizumi is soon transfixed by the sound of <i>his</i> voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of His Voice

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Day 6 of mysecretfanmoments' 30 Day Kagehina Challenge: trying to be sneaky. The pairing was requested by imsosrsly on Tumblr. I don't know what happened here.

This is a terrible idea.

Iwaizumi watches his two best friends, Hanamaki and Matsukawa, with much-warranted suspicion as they drag him into a club with lurid neon signs. _You’re no fun anymore_ , Matsukawa says. _Go out and live a little_ , Hanamaki says. Well, Iwaizumi had merely replied to their attempts to get him to go out with them by asking Makki to look up the definition of life in the dictionary. Mattsun gave him a pitying look at his comment, and here they are.

Giving into a childish impulse, Iwaizumi plants his feet and refuses to enter, but Macky and Mattsun merely hook their arms with Iwaizumi’s and drag him through the threshold. Mattsun hands a fistful of bills to the bouncer as they pass.

As they enter the club, the smell of stale cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol assaults Iwaizumi’s senses. Bad rock music blares out of speakers not built to handle such volumes, and there is a lingering malaise in the air that reminds him of a middle school boys’ bathroom: body odor and Axe. It makes him want to throw up.

Mattsun, who must have picked up on Iwaizumi’s train of thought, tightens his grip on his friend’s arm and says, “You’re not leaving until you have some fun.”

Iwaizumi growls, “I’m having a blast. Now, let’s get the hell out of here before the air gives me the clap.”

“You’re not getting away that easily, Iwaizumi,” Makki says with a laugh. “I told you you wouldn’t regret doing this, and I meant it.” He gestures to the bartender, a stupid grin plastered on his face. “We’ll take three of the shittiest liquor you’ve got, and make them doubles.”

The bartender, a strapping fellow with white hair and black streaks, gives them a wide-eyed look. “Ohoho, adventurers!” He slams three glasses on the counter and pours something called Devil’s Horn.

Makki and Mattsun toss theirs back and gasp at the strong flavor, while Iwaizumi looks at his own glass with nothing short of loathing. “I don’t drink, Makki. You know that.”

“You don’t do a lot of things. Doesn’t mean you can’t,” Mattsun chimes in, his logic as irritatingly sound as ever. “It’s not like we’re asking you to do drugs so you can wake up in a tub full of ice with a missing kidney and a cellphone taped to your hand.”

Iwaizumi guffaws at the mental image and sighs in resignation. “All right. Whatever you’re planning, just get on with it so we can go home.”

Mattsun and Makki look at each other like they’ve scored a victory, and Iwaizumi wishes he could take back his acceptance of whatever they brought him here for. It can’t be for the alcohol, if the scent of the amber brew sloshing in his cup is any indication. It could dissolve his nose hair if he sniffs hard enough.

It’s when Makki leans in to whisper to the bartender that Iwaizumi really wants to turn and flee. The bartender’s active eyebrows shoot up, and he nods animatedly before rushing off to put in motion whatever it is that Makki has in mind.

“Have I told you lately that I really hate you?” Iwaizumi says before taking a long drag of his drink, the flavor not enough to dissuade him from partaking in its particular brand of courage. “Like, _really_ hate you?”

Mattsun rolls his eyes. “You’ve been cooped up in your apartment for weeks since you and Tooru broke up. It’s not good for you.”

Iwaizumi glowers. “I thought I told you not to talk about that.”

“And this is why you need a distraction.” Macky grabs his barstool and swivels it around. “And _here_ is your distraction.”

In front of Iwaizumi stands possibly the most attractive person he has ever seen. Tall — about six feet — with long legs and jutting hips. Softly defined ab muscles give way to a smooth chest, statuesque shoulders, and then a face that would make angels cry. “Holy shit,” he wheezes past the lump in the back of this throat.

And it’s obvious what this god of a man is here for, judging by the black and white leather shorts he is wearing and the lack of any other clothing save for lace-patterened tights. His classically beautiful features are eased in a derisive expression, which gives him an air of unattainability, that he’s someone who can’t be reached.

Iwaizumi can feel his trousers tighten.

“Akaashi,” the man offers. “What’s your name, hon?”

Even though Akaashi’s expression says that he can’t care less who Iwaizumi is, he answers anyway, his voice a half octave higher than usual as he says his own name like it’s foreign to his own tongue.

Akaashi merely smiles at Iwaizumi’s discomfort and sidles up, ghosting a finger along Iwaizumi’s jawline before strumming his bottom lip. “How about a dance?”

Opening his mouth to refuse, Iwaizumi’s voice betrays him as he stares with his jaw slack. Akaashi snaps it shut with his thumb. “Come with me.”

His brain still adamantly screaming refusal, Iwaizumi is irritated to find that the rest of him doesn’t give a damn what his mind has to say as he toddles after Akaashi’s confident strides. Instead, his eyes are drawn to the gentle sway of hips and ogles those well-built thighs, which shift under tights that hug Akaashi’s taut flesh like a second skin.

He gets dizzy before he remembers to take a breath.

Akaashi draws him into a darkened room, and as soon as the door closes, the music and the smoke fade away like a bad memory. Now there is only the faint scent of leather and something musky that Iwaizumi thinks is distinctly Akaashi.

Quirking a finely arched brow, Akaashi asks, “Any requests?”

Having no earthly idea what that might even entail, Iwaizumi shakes his head and swallows the saliva that has started to collect in his mouth. Jesus Christ, this guy is hot.

With a smile that looks like it is seldom offered by its owner, Akaashi looks Iwaizumi up and down before letting out a throaty chuckle. “This wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“Um, no,” Iwaizumi manages. “My friends are trying to help, I suppose.”

“Bad breakup?” Akaashi sits on a leather-bound bench and pats the space beside him.

Iwaizumi sits heavily. “Yeah. We were together so long that I didn’t know how to be anything else. I never knew what we had wasn’t enough for him.”

Akaashi shrugs. “People are like that. Some are really easy to figure out. Some are puzzles we don’t have all the pieces to. You can’t just keep cutting chunks of yourself out to jam into the holes. Before you know it, you’re wearing leather pants to work and wondering what you’re doing with your life.”

Cheeks pinkening at this sudden fountain of honesty, Akaashi quickly says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump this on you.”

“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi says truthfully. “It’s nice to see something real in this place. Everyone has these plastic smiles on their faces, but none of them are probably happy.”

“Probably not.”

It’s quiet in the room until Iwaizumi fully registers that he’s having a heart to heart with an exotic dancer and begins to laugh. At first, it’s just a low rumble, but soon, his head is thrown back and tears spring out of his eyes. He hears Akaashi’s amusement next to him at their own private joke, and Iwaizumi finds that he really enjoys the sound.

“This is ridiculous, isn’t it?” Akaashi muses aloud.

“Meh,” Iwaizumi replies. “I lived with my ex for five years, and he was a walking disaster. Ridiculous is relative.”

“I had one like that. His name is Bokuto. He’s the bartender you talked to.”

Iwaizumi’s brows drew together. “And he, um, procures your clients? How can you deal with that?”

“It’s easy when I know he cares enough about me to send me the ones that won’t try anything.”

“Oh.”

Beside him, Akaashi huffs and stands. “Well, you never did say if you had any requests. How about I just start somewhere basic and see where it goes?”

Starting, Iwaizumi says, “You really don’t have to.”

Akaashi offers him that special little smile again. “I actually want to. I was about to go home for the night, anyway, so consider this one off the clock.”

“But don’t you want to get paid?”

“I get paid enough, and if this goes anywhere, I wouldn’t be able to finish it. I like you, so I would much like to finish it.”

A chill races down Iwaizumi’s spine. “Um, okay. Do your thing.”

With that, Akaashi turns away from him and places his hands on his hips. Slowly, he drags them down the sides of his legs, bending over inch by inch to give Iwaizumi a front row seat to the perfect curve of his ass and the tight muscles of his thighs straining against the lacy hose. Iwaizumi’s breath burns as his throat as he yearns to reach out and touch Akaashi, but he’s sure the rules don’t allow it, so his hands twitch uselessly in his lap.

Akaashi lowers himself to a squat before lolling back between Iwaizumi’s legs and languidly pushing himself upwards. “You can touch me, you know,” he utters as he snakes a hand around Iwaizumi’s neck. “Remember, I’m off the clock.”

A growl tears through Iwaizumi as he grasps Akaashi’s taut belly and drags his nails across the pale flesh. “God, you’re hot.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Akaashi purrs before rubbing his backside into Iwaizumi’s groin with deliberate force.

Iwaizumi lets out a strangled cry before sinking his teeth into his lip to silence himself. Someone could walk in at any moment; he doesn’t want to be caught grinding like a horny teenager. But he does want to grind. _God_ does he want to.

He thrusts his arousal against the cleft of Akaashi’s ass, who lets out a breathy moan. Iwaizumi decides he needs that sound like he needs air or food and trails his hand to the apex of Akaashi’s thighs, and he is rewarded with a mewl. Iwaizumi has a burning desire to see what other sounds Akaashi can make.

Akaashi’s head turns as it rests against Iwaizumi’s shoulder and pants softly into his ear, and Iwaizumi’s entire skeleton turns to liquid. He slouches back on the bench, happy for the wall behind him as Akaashi turns around and climbs onto his lap.

“You’re very responsive, Iwaizumi-san.”

“So are you,” Iwaizumi murmurs as he tugs Akaashi flush against his chest and pulls his head down for a kiss.

As their lips slide together, Iwaizumi slips his hands down the back of Akaashi’s shorts and teases the flesh beneath. “And your ass is hot,” he gasps between kisses.

Akaashi smiles against Iwaizumi’s mouth. “An ass man?” Iwaizumi nods. “Excellent.”

Iwaizumi nips at that perfect jaw as he slides a finger over Akaashi’s entrance. With a moan, Akaashi thrusts back against his hand and grinds. Between ragged breaths, Akaashi gasps, “Under the seat. Massage oil.”

The bench never would’ve stood a chance.

With a feral cry, he flings open the lid of the bench and finds the oil as if he knew it had been there the whole time. He flips the cap open and slathers his hands with the oil before delving back into Akaashi’s shorts. There is something intoxicating about his hands being enveloped by the tight leather, so he intends to keep them on Akaashi as long as he can.

One finger slides in, and Akaashi keens as he rocks his hips back against Iwaizumi’s hand. Soon, another finger joins, and Akaashi is unabashedly fucking himself against Iwaizumi as he palms his own erection. Iwaizumi’s cock is as hard as marble, and he thinks his skull might crack with the pressure of the blood pounding in his ears. With a sense of urgency, he prods in a third digit.

“Fuck!” Akaashi cries. That sound, that beautiful sound, is enough for Iwaizumi to lose control. He jams his fingers deeper and deeper into Akaashi until he is sure he can enter without ripping the other man in half. With that, he roughly pushes Akaashi off his lap and barks, “Bend over like you did the first time.”

The noise Akaashi makes at this command is unclassifiable. Iwaizumi closes his eyes and counts back from ten just to keep from coming in his pants.

He makes quick work of his own trousers and underwear before roughly yanking down Akaashi’s shorts and hose. Everything he has imagined about Akaashi’s ass under that tight leather dissolves as he sees the reality of it. The light dusting of freckles are so much more erotic than anything Iwaizumi’s limited brain can concoct. He stares at them as he pushes into Akaashi.

They both groan, and Iwaizumi has to restrain himself from pounding wildly into that soft, tight heat. He stays the course, bit by bit, until he is buried to the hilt. He lolls his head back towards the ceiling, trying to catch his breath while Akaashi adjusts, but his lungs refuse to cooperate.

“Move,” Akaashi wheezes, unable to cant his hips backwards to do it himself from this position.

Iwaizumi growls, clutching Akaashi’s hips hard enough to bruise, and complies. His thrusts are ruthless and relentless, but Akaashi’s constant stream of expletives urges him on until he is a brainless machine.

“Fuck, fuck, _fu — ahhh_!” Akaashi cries, his hands planted on his knees to keep from tipping over. With a throaty chuckle, Iwaizumi reaches a hand forward and grabs a chunk of Akaashi’s hair, drinking in the hiss of sensation that interrupts Akaashi mid-word.

“You like that, don’t you?” Iwaizumi directs his gaze over Akaashi’s arched back, and Akaashi turns to look over his shoulder. His eyes are nearly black, and a faint trickle of drool chases down his chin. Iwaizumi bites his lip to keep from saying something utterly filthy.

The need for release thrums in every atom of his body. Fueled by urgency, Iwaizumi grabs Akaashi’s hair with both hands and pounds relentlessly until Akaashi gasps, “I’m coming.”

When Akaashi’s insides shudder around Iwaizumi’s cock, he knows he’s done for. He explodes inside Akaashi with a roar and an intense feeling of relief. Makki and Mattsun were right; he did need this.

As they both struggle for breath, Iwaizumi wraps his arms around Akaashi’s middle and pulls them together as he eases them down on the bench. Akaashi’s limbs drape over Iwaizumi, and he thinks he can get used to this again. Closeness. Mingled breath. _Need_.

And he knows it is something Akaashi can never give him.

It’s with heavy reluctance that Iwaizumi says, “I should go.”

Akaashi groans but shifts over to the other side of the bench. “And now the weirdness begins.”

“I wish it wouldn’t,” Iwaizumi replies, surprised at his honesty. He had never intended to let Akaashi know how much of himself he had poured into their rushed coupling, yet he has and Akaashi is staring at him. “I’m tired of letting go.”

“I do it for a living,” Akaashi says with an eye roll. “What a pair we make.”

It’s a joke, but Iwaizumi doesn’t feel like laughing. He wants more. He wants what he had with Oikawa. He wants stability. But he also wants Akaashi.

Akaashi’s voice shakes him out of his stupor. “Can I, um, give you my number?”

Iwaizumi jolts in surprise, nearly toppling the bench that had withstood their rabid bout of fucking. “You want to see me again?”

Lips twitching, Akaashi says, “Yeah, I do. You’re sweet, and you have the arms of a god. I could get used to this, if you care to do it again. Or maybe, you know, something normal. Like coffee or takeout.”

A hand darts into the pocket of Iwaizumi’s trousers as he grabs his phone. “What’s your number?” Akaashi gives him the number, and Iwaizumi sends a simple text.

 _Hello_.

Something tingles in his belly, and he wonders if they might be able to start something. To build it by going back and starting where normal people begin relationships.

But that can wait for later. Right now, he settles for leaning in for a quick kiss before backing out of the room.

Outside the door, Makki and Mattsun are waiting for him, wide-eyed. Makki stammers, “Y-you j-just —”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi bites as he makes for the exit, whether they are following him or not.

They chase after him, rapidly discussing this turn of events amongst themselves as if Iwaizumi were not in front of them. No one sees the wink from the wild-haired bartender, but Iwaizumi imagines that he hears one last sigh from Akaashi.

God, does he love the sound of that voice.


End file.
